


A Kingdom for a Heart

by PatchworkIdeas



Series: WinterFRE 2020 [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Angst, Both have (more or less), Chapter 2:, Chapter 3:, Choose Your Own Ending, Choose Your Own Ratings, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gen Work, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings with Consequences, PowerfulMagicalFili, SacrificeKili, Some dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkIdeas/pseuds/PatchworkIdeas
Summary: He is the sacrifice.He doesn't want to be.A story with two paths.Which will it be?
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: WinterFRE 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604650
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36
Collections: GatheringFiKi - Winter FRE 2020





	1. What do you choose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Prompt Nr.23:  
> They drew lines and symbols all over his body. He knew he was the sacrifice.
> 
> This chapter is the beginning of both versions and splits into two possible paths at its end:  
> Chapter 2 will give you Gen fluff.  
> Chapter 3 will give you Explicit Dub-con Smut, some dark themes and hurt/comfort  
> See end notes for (spoilery) details. 
> 
> Characters are the same in both versions - Kili's reaction is what makes the difference. 
> 
> Both endings can be read without knowledge of the other, but if you want to read both my advise is to start with Chapter 2 - it provides some information about Fili that will offer you some insight into the motivations behind his actions.

The chains cut into his skin and the cold raised goosebumps all over his body.

He was the sacrifice, and showing off his naked body, adorned with their finest art, both painted and crafted, was more important than his comfort.  
The ground felt freezing beneath his soles, the wet grass tickling his toes.  
The stakes holding his chains secure were driven deep into the ground. He had no hope of pulling them out.  
(He tried, after he was sure he was alone. They said he was doing a great thing, that his fate would protect them all, that he should be _proud_.  
He wasn't proud; he was just scared.)

All he could do was wait.

His mind went back to the circumstances that brought him here, stuck between cursing each and every one of them and a chilling numbness, hopelessness that he feared almost as much as what might happen to him.

He didn't know what his fate would be.

No one knew for sure, though plenty had guesses, each more horrifying then the next.  
Each glad for once not to be at the top.  
He was the heir, the only child of their king's sister.  
The duty of the rulers was to protect those over whom they ruled.  
And their circumstances required the highest sacrifice that could be offered. 

The one he was being offered to was supposedly a mighty being who knew no equal. It had swayed the tide in many wars, always bringing victory to those it aided.  
And yet, no one even knew what it looked like.  
Only that it required a price, the highest they could give, every time.  
If the offering was judged unworthy, it would smite the offenders instead.  
But they had to try, he had been told, for the war had been raging too long and they couldn't afford to lose. 

He didn't want to die.  
He didn't want to be a slave.  
He didn't want to be raped for the rest of his life or be eaten or whatever else this thing would do to him but what else could he _do_?  
Supposedly the chains were symbolic, but maybe his uncle had known. 

There was precious little bravery to be found for one helpless, alone in the woods. 

Still, he tried.  
There was no dignity in any of this, but if it was the only thing he had left, for just a bit longer, then he would hold on with all he had.  
So he stood tall, and tried not to let his shivering take overhand, the chains too short to even let him hug himself for warmth.  
And so he waited, trying not to flinch whenever the wind rustled the leaves.

Eventually, something stepped out of the darkness.  
Someone.  
A dwarf, one he had not seen before.  
The rules were clear - none but the sacrifice should be in these woods after the sun went down. He made to call, at once hopeful for discovery and fearful of their fate for this clear breach, for the consequences it might have.  
But something stopped his voice, held the breath in his lungs. 

There was something... other... about the stranger.  
The golden hair shone despite the moonless night, the pale skin like ivory and the eyes frozen lakes, deep and endless and all but glowing. 

This was it.  
This was him. 

And he didn't want to shiver - but he did. In compensation he lifted his chin, standing proud and vulnerable and as an example of all the best his people had to offer.  
Maybe it was enough so that his trembling would be seen as a natural reaction to the cold and nothing more. 

The stranger leaned against one of the old trees, eyes never leaving his.  
Waiting, but for what he could not say.  
They had send their request for aid during the day, as the legends demanded.  
His only job was to be pretty, to be a worthy sacrifice.  
Be whatever was required. 

And yet, the stranger made no move at all, didn't even look at anything but his face. 

He couldn't say whether it was the cold, or the fear, his trademark recklessness or just sheer impatience to get it _over with already_ that made him snap, made him call out in what was definitely not the supplication he probably should have shown a being that decided not only his fate but the fate of all his people. 

"Well? Am I good enough for you?" He wished he could pick the words out of the air the moment they had been spoken. Not only due to what they might bring about, but due to how his voice had cracked, his fear bleeding through his attempted bravado. 

The not-dwarf moved.  
Slowly, leisurely, he stepped closer, grace in every movement. His features were even more stunning up close. He saw how the unnaturally blue eyes slowly travelled down his body, no indication if the not-dwarf liked what he saw.  
The other circled him with unhurried steps, and he could feel the gaze all over his body, even when the chains forced him to remain still while his backside was examined.  
Eventually, the handsome stranger stopped in front of him again.  
There was another silence while their eyes met, but this time it was the other who broke it. 

"And what am I supposed to do with you?" the voice was velvet and jewels, more beautiful and yet more deadly than anything he had ever heard before. It would have made him weak in the knees if the meaning behind the words hadn't enflamed his ire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2:  
> "Well, how am I supposed to know that?"  
> Gen, Fluff.  
> Kili admits to not wanting any of this.
> 
> Chapter 3:  
> "Whatever you want I suppose!" Explicit, Dub-con, some dark themes, h/c, misunderstandings with consequences.  
> Kili gets angry and loses what little hope he has in the process.  
> It's not like anything he says would make a difference anyway.


	2. To Speak the Truth

"Well, how am I supposed to know that?" he snapped, patience throughoutly tested and fear leaving in favour of the hurt he had desperately tried to not let himself feel.  
"You are the one asking for people's loved ones in return for your help!" 

He was their most precious thing, his family had said, but he couldn't help feel they had a strange way of showing it. 

"Their most precious possessions, actually" the stranger cooly corrected him, eyes never leaving his.  
"Are you a possession?" 

And that was the crux, wasn't it. With just a few words the stranger had summed up everything that was wrong.

 _This_ was wrong.

And his family hadn't cared, only interested in their blasted war.  
Kili hated everything in that moment, his family, the angry tears he couldn't stop escaping, the chains that prevented him from even hiding his shame. 

"I don't want to be a possession! But does it look like I have a _choice_?" His voice cracked on the last word, anger and desperation and fear and hurt warring inside him until it stole his voice. 

(Maybe it was for the best, for all the roads he could see lead to helplessness and misery and a fate too far out of his hands.  
He was breaking, the parts only hanging on by a thread.) 

And then he was free.  
The chains broken at his feet.  
There was not a scratch on his skin.  
The blue eyes were still staring at him, unmoved, unchanging, unblinking. 

"You have a choice now. What will it be?" 

It was Kili who waited this time, rubbing his wrists and being all too aware of how vulnerable he still was even without the chains.

What options did he even have? 

Even if he could leave, where would he go?  
No clothes, no armour, no weapons; just gold and jewellery and people who had made it clear his only worth was in what he could buy them. 

In the end, when the silence stretched for too long, Kili blurted: "I want to be my own person. Making my own decisions, maybe even finding a way out of this stupid mess that doesn't end up with even more people dead and more people angry in a cycle that never ends. I want to leave and I have nowhere to go; I want to change the world and I don't have the means to; I don't want this to ever happen to anyone ever again because _no one_ is a thing to be _bartered_ with." 

A shaky breath, the slowly blooming smile on the now kind face giving his voice strength. 

"I am not a possession. I will not barter myself as one." 

And here he hesitated, because what else could he offer?  
He didn't want to ask for this being's services, didn't want to repeat the mistakes of others. But he still had nowhere else to turn. 

And then it came to him. 

"My name is Kili and I offer you my friendship. If you want it."

It was a gamble, for sure. He had read the scrolls several times, looking for loopholes in an ever tightening noose. "He who knows no equal" was a phrase that kept repeating.  
Everyone thought it was about his might, his supposedly boundless power, but what if it wasn't?  
He knew how lonely it was even just being a prince, always that invisible wall between him and everyone else. 

How hard must it be, to be nothing but a weapon to others, nothing but a possession to be bought? 

"You are not a possession, and I will not treat you like one."  
His words are nothing more than a whisper on the wind this time, but they changed something in the other nonetheless.  
It's as if his face opened up, the cold eyes softening, the small smile growing until dimples transform his face. 

There is still something otherworldly about the stranger, but it is not fear anymore that runs a shiver down his spine and an unexpected warmth through his body. 

"Fíðþjólir, at your..." a hesitation, the first he had seen of him yet.  
"Fili. I would like that, if you speak true. If you don't, be aware that you will wish that I had accepted you as a sacrifice, for I do not take kindly to liars or thieves." There was a note of steel in Fili's voice, and Kili wondered how many had tried.  
He had no doubt they all failed; but felt for the pain it must have brought his new friend nonetheless. 

There was nothing worse than betrayal, especially from someone you cared about. 

(He would know) 

"Now let's get you warmed up, you are going to catch your death out here in nothing but that garish jewellery." Fili led him into the forest, but not before adding, almost as an afterthought:  
"You are much more impressive than any of it anyway." 

Kili blushed to the roots, very much noticeable in his current state of undress. For a fraction of a second he considered belatedly using his hands to hide himself, before realising the point was mood anyway.  
Maybe it was a compliment for his character?  
Or Fili was simply teasing him - a theory not without merit judging from his boyish smile and laughing eyes. 

So instead, Kili held his head high, smiled back and just laughed about how heavy the stupid stuff was, and how he would take a warm blanket and good company over gold anyday.

It did not help his blush when he realised the double meaning of his words after puzzling over Fili's lifted brows. 

"That wasn't what I - I mean, you are definitely impressive too, but I didn't mean - I just meant-"  
Kili hid his flaming face in his hands and whined. At least he wasn't quite as cold anymore.  
"Relax" Fili chuckled, "You are safe with me." 

When they arrived at Fili's home - a lone cottage apparently hidden under a spell, for Kili had not seen it before he stood right in front of it - his new friend showed him the washroom, a steaming hot tub inexplicably already waiting for him. As were the most comfortable clothes he had ever touched, despite his experience with expensive garments.  
Before long they settled in front of the roaring fire with a steaming bowl of soup, several blankets, and plenty of stories to share. 

It was nothing like Kili had expected his day to end, but for the first time in weeks he found himself looking forward to what the future might bring.


	3. Or Live a Lie

"Whatever you want I suppose!" he snapped, patience throughoutly frayed and fear turning into anger, into one last burst of useless energy, bound and offered and helpless as he was.  
"I'm here for your pleasure!" and there was a bite to his words, one he knew he shouldn't have let slip through - but what did it matter anymore. 

The other would do what he wanted anyway; would break him anyway.  
What did it matter if he lost his temper one last time before he never would again. 

The eyes darkened, causing a shiver down his frame that had nothing to do with the cold. He would have called it anger, if the voice hadn't been calm, collected.  
Indifferent. 

"My pleasure. Is that what you want? Is that why you are here?" and he would have laughed if he didn't feel like he might cry if he tried.

"Why else would I be here?" and his strength and defiance left as fast as it came, burned out in the face of his unescapable fate.

He didn't know what game the other was playing, but he was tired of it. Tired of fearing the worst and yet having no way to prevent it.  
"Just get it over with already. Please." he whispered, yet it echoed strangely in the sudden silence of the forest. 

"... Very well. If that's what you want. " he heard after what felt like forever, the sob stuck in his throat, because it wasn't, it wasn't, but what choice did he have?  
His fate was sealed the moment he had been chosen as the sacrifice. 

He had nowhere to go.  
Nowhere to run.  
Nowhere to hide. 

This would happen either way. 

He closed his eyes when the stranger started touching him.  
Finger tips ghosting over his skin, leaving fire in their wake.  
The cold started to fade, replaced by a warmth coiling inside him while the fingers explored every inch of him. 

He didn't want the fire, didn't know why his body was reacting at all. Hated himself for the gasp that escaped when fingers were replaced with firm hands, holding, squeezing, rubbing.  
His new master didn't seem to have a preference yet, touching him all over, paying as much attention to the areas that simultaneously made him bite back moans and had him pull at the too short chains, trying to get away, as he did to anywhere else. 

There were only two areas he avoided.  
His cock - placid but twitching against his will, reacting to the thorough attention - and his entrance.  
He had no doubt it wouldn't last, but refused to let his whimpers sound through the clearing when the hands eventually made their way there - as he had known they would. 

The finger was cold and slippery and a part of him hated that the stranger was so careful in his ministrations.  
He should hate this, should hate all of it, and he did and couldn't at the same time. It was maddening how his body was reacting, beginning to crave this gentle attention, asking for more instead of less.  
Tears burned in his eyes. He concentrated on that, refused to let them fall. 

It felt odd, he didn't remember the blond's hands ever leaving his body, but there was plenty of lube covering the probing finger inside him. He felt slick and wet and every twitch of that lone finger, every motion rubbing against his insides just stoked the fire, made him rise to attention whether he wanted to or not.

Why did it have to feel so good? 

He tried to concentrate on the cold wetness instead.  
How had he managed to coat him so well in such a short time? He was slipping in and out without any trouble, and even the second finger that was added after way too long (no, no, too short, always too short, it would lead to, he didn't want...) didn't meet any resistance. He felt like he was wet and hot and ready down to his core, deeper than the fingers had ever reached. 

His breath hitched and came back ragged and loud, echoed by the squelching sound as the fingers spread him apart, achingly slowly; adding yet another, almost like an afterthought. 

It should have hurt.  
It didn't. 

He could feel fluids run down the inside of his thighs, down his legs and he felt so empty and yet so full and it was so wrong and so right and nothing made sense anymore.  
The rhythmic motion, scissoring, squirming, rubbing until he felt his knees give and only the strangers hand on his hip held him upright.  
A part of him was strangely admiring at the power in that frame, how easy he was held up, how the rhythm never faltered.

He wasn't supposed to... But he was, it felt so good, stroking something inside of him again and again and again and his breath turned to wanton moans he couldn't keep inside anymore.  
Why was he fighting?  
What was he fighting?  
This felt so good.  
He needed... "more" and that couldn't have been his voice, but it was, and he couldn't deny he wanted it (whywhywhywhy did this feels so good), his blood singing for more and his voice echoing, echoing, whimpering without restraint when the fingers left him empty and cold and wanting. 

And then he wasn't anymore.  
Pressure, heat, being filled up inch by inch, so slow, hands holding him still, keeping him from bucking, from taking more, taking what he needed and he _ached_ and _wanted_ and it wasn't _enough_. 

The fire rushing through his veins, scorching him from the inside out, burning away everything but the delicious, steady slide, the unaccustomed feeling of fullness that shouldn't have felt like coming home, like this was what he was made for, but it did. 

Any notion he had tried to hang on to, of wrongness, of anything he had wanted or not wanted, was blown away when he felt him slide home at last, his body full to bursting, stretched impossibly wide and yet with nothing but pleasure and want screaming through his veins. 

This was right, this was what he needed what he had _always_ needed (nononononono) and how could he have ever been afraid of something that felt so good, so right, so perfect.

The delicious friction combined with the feeling of loss when he pulled back, emptyempyempty before being filled again, slow, steady, methodically taking him apart, wringing sounds out of his throat he hadn't known he could make, should have been embarrassed by but wasn't.  
There was nothing but the motion, nothing but the fire, the pressure, the beautiful stretch when his body welcomed the stranger inside without hesitation. 

The hand not holding him up unerringly found every spot on his body that made him keen and writhe and beg for more, every one but the one still untouched, leaking and painfully hard.  
He pulled at his chains, needing more, needing to be touched there, needing yet more than the hands and the warmth and the kisses trailed over his shoulders.  
He _needed_

And his prayers were answered, warm fingers embracing him, stroking in time, still too slow, not enough and yet so much, too much and more _please_.  
And then the twist, a minute change in pace and angle and the unexpected reassurances ("I've got you, you're safe, it's okay" and a thousand other sweet nothing he couldn't understand) drowned out by the white hot flood running through his body, his senses singing, screaming, nothing else mattering, nothing else in existence but that sweet, sweet release. 

-

He comes to in a bed. Warm and fluffy, surrounded by blankets and throws and mountains of pillows all tucked around him, artfully arranged.

His body is singing.  
He doesn't know why.

It's the emptiness that makes him lift the heavy comforters with aching limps. There are bandages around his wrists and ankles but they don't hurt.  
Even the aching feels good, feels right, reminds him of something, but he doesn't know what.

There is a shirt and trousers laid out for him.  
The cloth is soft and feels warm and pleasant on his skin.  
His stomach growls, distracting him from the nice feeling and reminding him of the emptiness inside. 

He notices a door and ventures outside, into another room, where the delightful smell of freshly baked bread and assorted meats and cheeses reaches his nose. In the middle of the chamber a table has been laid out with all kinds of food; at the end of it there's a handsome stranger, studying something laid out before him. 

He seems familiar. 

Shining golden hair, the stunning blue eyes now looking into his, dimples, lightening up his whole face with a smile, just for him.

His own eyes are drawn to an arm extended in an invitation to take the seat opposite (arms that could lift him, could hold him, could do what they wanted with him). The voice is warm and velvety and he feels something settle inside of him, only making him more aware of everything that hasn't settled yet, all the questions he has no answers for, begging for attention just out of his reach. 

"Good morning. I hope you slept well? You must be hungry, go on, eat as much as you like, you will never have to go hungry again."

He does, crossing the distance, his bare feet making no sound on the strangely warm floor.  
He eats his fill. It is delicious.  
It is the most delicious food he has ever had.  
It seems a strange thought, for he felt sure he had eaten well before. 

Despite his confusion, he does have manners. "Thank you,... - " he starts, stops, realises "uhm, I, thank you for the food, but I'm afraid I don't know your name? I'm sorry, it must have slipped my mind..." he knows this person, and he is obviously kind and friendly and a good sort. 

Why has he forgotten his name?

But the other does not begrudge him his bad memory, instead he chuckles, and answers.  
"You may call me Fili. This will be your home from now on, so I would prefer if we didn't use any titles or the like. Can you do that?"  
The question seems strange to him. 

"... Should I call you any titles outside then, Fili? I'm sorry, I seem to be a bit confused, but anyway, I'm - "  
And his confusion changes to panic when he realises he can't remember this either, can't remember his own _name_ and he tries to find anything, anything from before but there is _nothing_. Where is he from, how did he get here, where even is here, _who is he_? 

Gentle hands pull him out the chair, into waiting arms, soothing hands running down his back, fingers brushing through his hair and that velvet voice telling him it's okay, he's safe, over and over and over again until the tears stop and he feels he can breathe again. 

What was that?  
What happened to him?

"Do you know my name? Can you tell me who I am?" he whispers, voice small and fragile and as unfamiliar as everything else now feels. 

Fili sighs "I'm afraid I can not. You did not tell me. I would think, with what must have happened to you, that it would not bring you much joy anyway. Do you want a new name?" his voice is gentle, talking like to a spooked animal, but his words only raise more questions.  
"What happened? Please... I..." he has to know. Anything, anything is better than this emptiness. 

Fili pulls him up and leads him to the other side of the table, helping him sit before pulling another chair so that he could both look at him - hold his hand, offer comfort - and look at the maps spread out on the table.  
"You were given to me as a slave, in an attempt to buy my services. You insisted you were my property. I accepted so that you would not have to return to the people who would trade you away like that. I don't know what they must have done to you to make you believe you had to be owned. But you are my responsibility now, and I take care of my own.  
You will live a long and healthy life and want for nothing.  
I will not harm you.  
I will treat you as my equal.  
I want you to be _happy_.  
I locked away all of your memories connected to the people who did this to you. You must have been very young when they got you, for you to not remember anything at all. I can return them if you insist, but, considering... I do not think they will make you happy.  
You have a fresh start here, with me. If you want it."  
Fili's voice is steady, though the thought of how he had come to be here obviously pains him.

He picks at the bandages on his wrists.  
Shackles, most likely. 

He should want to know, shouldn't he?  
But he is afraid, and he doesn't know why. 

He looks over the maps on the table, anything to distract him from the truth for just a moment, giving him some time to come to grips with what he has heard. 

"Are these... Are these maps of where I came from?"  
Fili accepts his need, for he squeezes his hand before letting go, nudging the map so he can see it clearly. 

"Yes. This is where those monsters live. I will not help them, but I will not sit by and let others share your fate. Those who treat people as possessions do not deserve to live. They will burn."  
His breath stocks in his throat, a heavy weight on his chest he can't explain, can't understand.

He is terrified. 

Why?  
Why does hearing about them scare him so?  
Is he afraid of what had happened?  
Afraid of Fili going there?  
He doesn't want Fili there, but he doesn't know why. Just that the thought of Fili in those streets, nebulous and imaginary as they are, terrifies him. 

He swallows, croaks: "Please don't go. I don't know why but please don't go there."

And Fili is back, kissing the tears away and pulling him into his lap, holding him, safe and secure.  
"I swear to you they do not have the means to harm me. And you will not be anywhere near them ever again. I will protect you, I promise."

He feels exhausted, drained, like he has been awake for days instead of merely an hour.  
If even the mention of them can bring such strong fears to his heart, what would the memories do? 

What had been done to him?

Maybe it is better if he doesn't know.  
He is safe and warm and comfortable and he had been _happy_ when he woke up, hadn't he?  
Fili seems attuned to his mood and his needs, for he lifts him without trouble and carries him back to the bed, carefully tucking him in and stroking his hair, kissing his forehead before turning to leave.  
His hand shoots out to stop him without conscious thought. 

He doesn't want to be alone right now. 

And Fili listens to his unspoken plea, slipping under the covers and holding him close, until his breathing finally calms.  
He has a lot to think about, a lot has happened. But Fili has been nothing but kind, asked nothing of him despite having every right to. 

He is even willing to fight for him, as much as the thought still scares him. 

He doesn't know who he had been before, but he wants to see who he could be now, away from all who would want to control him; in the care of someone who seems willing to love him despite barely knowing him at all. 

He makes his choice. 

"Kili" he says into the stillness, with a determination that feels right, feels like what he wants to be.  
"Call me Kili. I will stay here, with you, and see who I could be."

Fili kisses his shoulder and hugs him close.  
"Kili" he says, and it sounds good in his velvet voice, like it belongs on that tongue like Kili belongs in his arms.  
"Welcome home, Kili. Welcome home."


End file.
